The Masked Man
by MorganLeFay33
Summary: Cora Crawley and Sarah O'Brien are tricked into attending a Carnival celebration in Venice (thanks to Rosamund Painswick's craftiness), and mischief ensues. AU set sometime around Series 2 … or something like that!
1. Chapter 1

**The Masked Man **

* * *

_And here I thought I was no longer inspired to write Corah fics. Silly me. xoxo, Morgana_

* * *

**I**

Sarah gently patted the gold powder onto her lady's cheeks, taking care to wipe the excess specks away with the bit of her own black dress that she held tightly in her hand. When she reached down to grab the little red bottle, the countess asked,

"Shall I sit, O'Brien?"

Sarah nodded in genial silence, noticing, as always, the way that her lady tended to ask her maid's permission for things that she really ought to decide on her own. It had become even more persistent since they had arrived in Venice two days ago. "Do you think it safe to step under this pillar, O'Brien?" or "May I wear a hat with a wider brim today, O'Brien?" or "O'Brien, if you were the Baroness, would you find it terribly rude of me to leave my fruit plate unfinished after dinner?" Sarah was happy to answer each question as earnestly as she could, hoping that in some way, her small contributions to the countess' wellbeing might lift the unrelenting guilt that followed her from day to day. Alas, it continued to pelt her with all the merciless force of the mediterranean sun.

Sarah fanned her face with her hand and wiped her brow before leaning down to unscrew the bottle. She lifted the brush to her ladyship's lips and began to trace them ever so carefully. The countess began to speak as Sarah tried to fill them in, and as frustrating as it was to work around it, she smiled in spite of herself.

"I must say, O'Brien, that I have finally forgiven Rosamund."

"Have you?" Sarah finished applying the paint to her lady's mouth and continued to tie colorful gems into her long curls.

"Yes. It was wrong of her to lie to us about our destination, but I do think that this detour has been so very restful and fun, don't you agree? And for you as well, I hope?

The lady's maid trifled around in the countess' jewelry box to try and find the gold necklace that she had asked to wear this evening. "I have enjoyed it, m'Lady, yes."

The American woman suddenly giggled and added with a playful pout, "And I daresay our guide today was _very _fond of you, O'Brien."

Sarah was not sure what to do in this moment. Were she to act flattered and flustered by it, would she be consenting to something that she had never in a million years wanted? Were she to reveal her complete indifference, would she offend her lady by dissenting and upset her by quashing her endearing enchantment so soon? In truth, Sarah had found the gondolier to be annoying and tasteless, with his silly Carnival mask (worn during the day, no less!) and his singsong voice, and his lewd jokes. But the countess was right – he had indeed taken a shine to Sarah.

"Look how beautiful, the Adriatic sea!" he had cried, pointing to the dazzling water beside them. "And yet, your eyes shine more brightly, _Signora_." Both women, sitting huddled together in the boat, had assumed that he'd been addressing Lady Grantham until they noticed that he was in fact gesturing toward her maid. In any other situation, it would have been received as ghastly behavior, but the countess had instead erupted into delighted, girlish laughter, fluttering her eyelashes beneath her parasol. Meanwhile, Sarah had just stared down into the depths beside the gondola, thinking that she could use a cigarette right about now.

In the end, the tour through the Venetian waterways had been worth the embarrassment, for when they had passed under the Rialto Bridge, the countess slipped her arm into Sarah's and rested her head on her shoulder sighing, "This city threatens to make me fall in love all over again."

Still recovering from the heat of the afternoon, Sarah moved languidly and carefully, hoping not to become sloppy or awkward in her work. She softly tied the delicate white mask around her lady's face, admiring her in the mirror. Unsurprisingly Cora Crawley resembled one of the elegant, mythical Graces represented in the many paintings hanging in the Baron's home. The lady's maid tried to ignore her own shortness of breath at the otherworldly sight, and shuffled around, trying to adjust the countess' shimmering gown until it fell just perfectly. She glittered like a pearl inside a seashell.

The dinner parties this week were anything but proper, as they were celebrating the Carnival season. It was not a surprise that Rosamund had secretly arranged for them to attend, but it was a bit of a shock to Sarah that her ladyship had been enjoying it so thoroughly. She watched from behind a curtain as the countess fluttered off into the dining room, soon surrounded on all sides by lively musicians and elaborate decorations and other mysterious masked attendees who offered fizzy drinks and asked her to dance and entertained her with magic tricks. Sarah scoffed to herself at the sight of Rosamund pulling on her sister-in-law's sleeve in an effort to lure her into the next room. Of course it was Rosamund – unruly tendrils of her red hair always managed to poke out of her disguises and gave it away immediately. Sarah yawned and returned to the countess' bedroom, satisfied in some strange way that her lady was being looked after by a familiar face.

* * *

Just as she was folding her lady's discarded dressing gown, Sarah heard a sudden tap on the shutters of the window. She froze for a moment but resumed her folding soon thereafter. A second, larger bang on the shutters stopped her in her tracks. She gingerly placed the dressing gown on the bed and tiptoed to the window. She threw the shutters open and peered down into the night, searching. As soon as her sight adjusted to the darkness, she groaned and rolled her eyes.

"How can such a beautiful lady spend the evening imprisoned inside a tiny room, _così_?" the gondolier shouted, waving his arms in the air dramatically.

"Go home," Sarah replied sternly, glaring at him in exasperation.

"I cannot! _Per favore, mio tesoro!_" he cried, "May I take you on the water once more?"

"No." Sarah moved to close the shutters.

"But you shine, my lady, like the light of the moon!"

"And _you're_ being a bloody nuisance. Go home."

In the midst of her yelling, Sarah had not noticed the person who had quietly entered the room behind her, and she jumped in fright at the sight of her. Like everyone else in the vicinity, she too was masked, but her long red gown was fastened more tightly, her face was painted more sharply, and her thick black hair fell in mesmerizing waves around her voluptuous form. Dark eyes as bright as obsidian stared out from behind their surrounding red frame, and she spoke in a deep voice with a heavy Italian accent.

"Sarah O'Brien, I am a friend of Lady Rosamund Painswick. Come with me, please?"

Before Sarah could inquire further, the woman grabbed her by the hand and pulled her down the marble staircase into an empty room lined with drawn curtains. She found herself once again in the company of her annoyingly persistent gondolier admirer and scowled at the situation.

"What is this? Let me go!" she ran back toward the door, but the mysterious woman slipped in front of her just in time, blocking the lock with her body so that Sarah would have had no choice but to grab her chest to push her aside.

"No, no, Sarah. You must listen."

"We will help you," the man said in very broken English.

"With what? How do you know who I am?" she asked incredulously. "You can help me by letting me out!"

"Ah! No!" the woman stood in Sarah's way once again, lightly tapping her finger on the maid's nose in playful refusal. She suddenly turned her around and wrapped her arms around the lady's maid's shoulders, pressing herself against her back with a purposeful sensuousness and whispering impishly in her ear, "My brother is right. _Una bellissima donna_ such as yourself should not miss the party too, eh?"

Sarah could not stop herself from sinking backwards into the woman's hold. Her strong perfume and gravelly voice had lured her in, and Sarah could only shiver as she began to feel hands unbuttoning her dress. When it finally caught up to her that a complete stranger was undressing her, she frantically tried to run and swat at her.

"Sarah! Look at me! Sarah! Let her go, _Gianna_, let her go!" the man cried.

She stopped struggling for a moment to see a surprisingly kind smile on his masked face.

"My sister is too forceful, yes? Excuse us. We do not want to hurt you, Sarah. I want to dress you! I am very good." He held in one hand an exquisite dark blue cape, and in the other hand, he waved a gold-trimmed letter in the air.

Sarah finally wriggled free of the woman's hold and snatched the letter from him. "Let me see that."

Sarah could barely believe it when she found that it was an invitation addressed to _her_ in Rosamund's handwriting. At the bottom of the page, she had also added,

"_My dearest friends, Gianna and Giacomo, will help you into your Carnival attire for the evening. I do hope that you will find it to your liking. In bocca al lupo, Miss O'Brien!_"

When Sarah had finished reading, she looked up into the faces of her captors. She did not understand what was happening, and she did not understand why it was happening, but the hinted expressions on their faces were far from sinister - only mischievous and bawdy. She glanced back and forth between them in confusion, wondering whether it would be wise to accept Rosamund's very strange offer and trust them.

* * *

_In case anyone was __wondering about the Carnival theme, during the 19th and early 20th centuries, Carnival was not celebrated in Venice outside of private parties. It wasn't entirely revived until much later. _:-)


	2. Chapter 2

_Erm, yeah. It's getting pretty lascivious up in here, but hey! It's Carnival ;-)_

* * *

**II**

* * *

She couldn't pretend that she didn't start to enjoy it once she had consented. They had eagerly pushed her down into the plush chair in the corner and theatrically slid her into the center of the room, all the while laughing and cheering recklessly. This was a curious situation indeed, and Sarah found that asking questions was useless, for Giacomo was far too focused on his work and Gianna met each of Sarah's objections with a sternly shushing finger to her lips.

It did not take long for Sarah to figure out that Giacomo was far from romantically interested in her. It must have been a ploy to get her here. In fact, the more she watched him as he waved around colorful blouses and giant feathers, she began to wish Thomas were here with her as well. She could imagine the poor sod tripping all over his own feet at the sight of the handsome European man. She smiled to herself, imagining with a kind of sisterly fondness the way Thomas would have gone entirely silent in his presence, gobsmacked like a scared little boy.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a throaty giggle from below and looked down to see Gianna leaning over her legs, pulling off her boots in delight. The Italian woman worked her way upwards, undressing the lady's maid slowly and playfully until she was practically sitting in Sarah's lap and continually swatting away her hands. It soon became clear that Sarah would not be allowed to help with the process. Gianna hummed to herself in roguish contentment as she casually flicked open various buttons here and there, tugged at taut laces in embarrassing places, pushed heavy skirts up, and pulled tight stockings down. All the while, she punctuated her ministrations by giving the lady's maid sips of many different drinks and dropping frisky, tipsy little kisses all over her face and onto her wine-stained lips. The more Sarah drank, the more she was happy to surrender and let her have her fun. Honestly, she herself was having a bloody good time too. It had been so long since she'd been touched in this way by another person, and she wasn't sure she wanted it to stop yet.

Gianna finally threw Sarah's corset aside and helped her onto her feet. Sarah was much too dizzy to care that she stood in front of them in only her shift, her arms held up high in the air by a complete stranger. The Venetian woman yelled something to her brother in Italian, and he threw a long roll of white fabric over to her.

"_Ghe_ _sboro!_" Gianna yelled in good-humored frustration. It had begun to unfurl in the air before she'd managed to catch it. Giacomo burst into raucous laughter at his sister's silly struggle and sharp tongue. She chuckled and continued to curse to herself under her breath as she ran to retrieve it from the floor. Sarah stood there grinning at the entire clumsy, drunken situation – that is, until she realized the purpose of the fabric.

"You're not… What? Just _what_ are you…Ouch!" Sarah squirmed in protest, but it was too late to stop the Italian woman. She had pulled Sarah back into her from behind with surprising force. She then snaked one arm around the maid's waist, and with the other hand was wrapping the fabric tightly around her chest.

Gianna sniggered merrily against the back of Sarah's neck. "Tonight, our _bellissima donna _becomes _un bell'uomo_."

A chill ran down Sarah's spine at the feeling of the words against her skin. "A what becomes _what_?" she asked in confusion.

The other woman laughed heartily and squeezed her hip for a moment, dropping a light kiss on her shoulder. "We change you tonight, Sarah!"

It dawned on her what exactly was happening. "Are you _binding _my… Am I to be dressed as a _man_?"

Just as she made one last knot behind Sarah's back, Gianna whispered into her ear, "You must not talk, Sarah. She cannot know it is you. You must promise."

"Who cannot know?"

"Ah…" Gianna spun her around quickly and kissed Sarah fully on the mouth before grabbing her cheeks and replying, "Sarah, your lady must meet her shadowy _cavaliere _in silence tonight. Can you do this?"

She finally understood, and a jolt of nervousness coursed through her at the thought of what was to come. Of course Rosamund had devised this very stupid, very dangerous plan. She could strangle her right about now.

Sarah nodded uncertainly and Gianna grinned in absolute glee, responding, "You _must_ be a marvelous actor, _cavaliere_!"

Giacomo finally marched toward them, arms overflowing with beautiful, brightly colored garments and a bulging sack filled with mysterious contents.

"I," he said in excitement, "am going to make you into a very elegant knight, _Signora_."

* * *

"For the _contessa_." With a flourish, the short man beside her produced a pink camellia and held it out to her.

Cora hiccupped and giggled, bowing her head and joining her hands in gratitude, too full of champagne to manage a proper thank you.

Once he had walked away, Cora ran her fingers over the soft petals of the flower, thinking that she would take it back to O'Brien once the night was over. She wove it into her hair for safekeeping, taking care not to displace any of the gems that her maid had so skillfully tied there. She swayed in time to the music and leaned against the large window, fluttering her extravagantly lace-lined fan against herself. In the midst of all of this revelry, she still could not shake the feeling of loneliness.

Robert would lose his mind if he were ever to find that his wife and sister's brief adventure to Italy had turned into such a licentious affair. No, it was not Robert that she wanted here with her right now. He would not chuckle at her slight drunkenness, would not wrap a protective arm around her, would not gaze at her costume in wonder. Had he been here, he would have lectured her for misbehaving and would have tried to wrap some sort of cover around her shoulders. She closed her eyes, wondering what O'Brien would have worn if she had been allowed to join the party.

She imagined a sea-green dress, so light that it almost bubbled like foam. She bit her lip at the thought of her maid's hair tumbling down her back in deliberate disarray, as if she were Roman nobility. Cora fanned herself even more at the thought of switching places for a day, of painting Sarah's lips with a delightful pink color, of spreading silver dust across her face and chest, of fastening a glimmering silver mask over her nose and tying it at the nape of her neck.

She opened her eyes and shook her head, realizing that she had lost herself in such a strange fantasy. She noticed Rosamund standing in the opposite corner of the room, surrounded on all sides by tall, masked men who watched her dotingly and broke into laughter at each of her jokes. Cora smiled to herself, pleased to see her sister-in-law in such perfect contentment, so very much in her element.

"Would you like to dance, _contessa_?"

"Would you like another drink, _contessa_?"

"How beautiful you look tonight, _contessa_!"

The many party attendees swarmed her once again, and Cora was caught up in a storm of the adoring hands and admiring eyes of strangers. The more she accepted their offers, the more tipsy she became. She knew that she should make her way to the table to eat something, but she could not find it, and so she continued to be passed around and viewed like a precious trinket in a curio cabinet.

Suddenly, a gloved hand grasped her arm gently and pulled her away from the crowd. She could not see who it was and allowed herself to be led away from the noise and the lights. The countess tripped over the hem of her gown and blinked at the dark form moving before her in the blurry spectacle of the room. She squinted in question, wondering which of the masked partygoers had been so bold as to claim her for his own.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

* * *

After a whirlwind of spinning movement, Cora found herself seated in the empty dining room, gazing up at a tall, masked knight. He looked different from the other dinner guests, sporting silver chainmail and a shining helmet, decorated by a bright red feather in a giant plume. The countess' eyes traveled downward from his breastplate, and she drew in an awestruck breath when she noticed the sword sheathed beside his waist. He was not a usual sort of knight but an elegant one, with a thick blue cape, rich red quilting on his doublet, and high-heeled boots beneath his britches, embellished with ruffled white lace and velvet bow ties. A cascade of dark brown curls fell to one side beneath his helmet and was tied together neatly by yet another velvet bow. She squinted and leaned forward to get a closer look, realizing that he wore a white mask under his helmet that covered every potentially recognizable feature of his face except his eyes, so shrouded in shadow that Cora could not see them regardless. She grinned in amazement, almost asking herself whether she might truly be in the presence of a _chevalier _from the court of Louis XIV.

They simply watched one another for a moment until the knight kneeled to the floor in front of her and bowed his head deferentially. Cora giggled and held out her hand, and she was not surprised when he took it and only pretended to kiss it.

"What shall I call you, mysterious one?" Cora asked playfully, delighted by this very obvious game of pretend that had commenced.

He simply shook his head and clasped her hand in his gloved ones, squeezing it affectionately and briefly.

"I see," Cora replied, throwing him a cheeky little grin. "It is only proper to remove one's helmet in a Lady's presence, is it not?"

The knight did not honor her request but rose again to his feet, pointing his index finger up in a silent signal that she should wait for his return.

As she sat alone in her champagne-induced stupor, staring at the large table before her, Cora wondered whether it was wise to shut herself away in a room with a stranger whom she had just met. She had heard the horrific stories of the things that happened at parties such as these, but for some inexplicable reason, she trusted him. She felt an oddly familiar sense of safety in his presence, and she was too far gone to question it tonight.

He returned quietly and gracefully, and with a nonchalant sweep of his wrist, he set a dish in front of her on the table that was covered in figs and meats and warm bread.

"Is this for me?" she asked in confusion.

The knight sat down next to her and nodded emphatically, pushing two goblets of water across to her as well. He motioned with one hand for her to eat and rested his head on the other as he watched her.

The countess laughed again, relieved to have at least found some food for the evening. He watched her in wordless reverence as she ate and drank. To any other observer, the scene might have appeared uncomfortable, but Cora found his quiet companionship oddly pleasant.

Once she had finished, the knight clapped his hands together as if proud of her, and she couldn't help but giggle again, remarking in good-natured sarcasm, "Thank you for feeding me. What next, my strange knight? Are we to have tea? Embroider together in the drawing room?"

His armor clinked in his silent laughter at her suggestions, and he shook his head to say no, instead standing and reaching out for her hand. Cora accepted in wonder, and as she followed him through the marble halls of the Baron's home, she realized that her tipsiness had been reigned in and no longer threatened to overpower her. Her mind was now clouded with something else, something far more lovely and indescribable that only fully hit her when they escaped outside and she felt a rush of excitement at the crispness of the night air.

He led her into the gardens, also empty save for the occasional strolling couple. He turned to Cora once they reached the gravel path and offered his arm to her. She took it eagerly, and they began to wind their way through the maze of trees and hedges. The air was heavily perfumed by the flowers around them, and the countess lifted her head toward the stars, almost entirely content by her surroundings.

Suddenly, two bandits jumped out from behind the large fountain before them, both in black from head to toe save for their hideous, monstrous masks. Cora gasped in fear as they hurried toward them, their grotesque features made all the more terrifying in the moonlight. Her mysterious companion motioned for her to remain still while he continued forward. As the three of them convened in the center of the garden, it all became clearer, and the countess burst into charmed laughter; it was not a real fight, but a dramatic show put on for her entertainment. She clasped her hands together against her mouth, watching with glee as the knight drew his glistening sword from its sheath and began to "battle" the two knaves in an exciting, yet carefully choreographed dance. She applauded him enthusiastically once his foes had been vanquished, and she couldn't help from giggling as they rose from their "deaths" and ran off into the night, blood red ribbons flowing behind them in the breeze.

The knight bowed down one knee before the countess, and she leaned over to whisper, "May I borrow your blade for a moment, my brave protector?"

He fumbled with it for a moment before presenting it to her in his outstretched hands, his gaze focused on the ground.

After laying the blade gently against each of his shoulders, she proclaimed in mock seriousness, "I dub thee Sir Knight."

* * *

"Did you enjoy your evening, m'Lady?" O'Brien asked kindly.

Cora was ever so distracted by the gentle way that her maid was patting the warm, damp cloth against her flushed cheeks to remove her sparkling face paint. With her eyes still closed in utmost relaxation, she replied, "It was absolutely enchanting, O'Brien. I wish you could have seen it."

"Oh?"

The lady's maid listened intently as Cora recounted the night's festivities, but the countess stopped herself when she realized how very enthralled she had become while telling the story of her enigmatic knight. It was not kind to express her own joy at what she had experienced when her maid had not been able to join the fun herself. It was strange, the way in which Cora had started to think more about this as of late. She had never cared before about whether or not her maid would feel excluded from her life, but over the past year or so, she had become aware of how very unfair it all was.

"I apologize, O'Brien. I've gotten carried away, and I am sure that it must all seem very boring to you." Before the lady's maid could respond, Cora cried, "Oh, I almost forgot!" She reached behind her head and laid her fingers over the other woman's hand before she could remove the camellia. The countess pulled the flower out carefully and turned to O'Brien with a warm smile. "I kept this for you. I saved it all night, because I thought it would look beautiful in your hair."

O'Brien paused, appearing momentarily stunned by Cora's gift. "Did you really?" she said almost inaudibly. Her voice was hoarse, and the countess wondered fleetingly whether she might have been holding back tears. "You're very kind, m'Lady. Thank you for thinking of me."

"I am always thinking of you."

Her lady's maid was rendered speechless for a second, clearly touched by Cora's words. She admired the flower for a moment, stroking its petals contentedly before looking up once again to say, "M'Lady, I don't find your story boring at all. I'd like to hear more if you're keen to say more. How did it end?"

Cora was relieved by her continued fascination with it all, and she quickly turned in her seat toward the mirror again. "Well, it was so very odd, O'Brien! We gazed at the night sky together for some minutes, but when the c_ampanile _rang at midnight, he bowed to me once more and just…disappeared! Just like in a fairy story!"

O'Brien paused in the midst of plaiting the countess' long hair. "How very peculiar."

"Indeed!" Cora chirped. "I _do_ hope that he and I will meet again tomorrow. It was all so…well….It was _exhilarating_!"

"I imagine so, m'Lady."

The countess had no more details to recall, no more intrigue to impart. It was a shame, she thought, as she watched O'Brien's lips form a wry little smile in response to her tale. She would have drawn out the story until dawn if she could have, for there was no sight more lovely than this.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

* * *

"I've just spotted your masked knight."

Cora jumped at Rosamund's words, whispered so slyly in her ear right in the middle of the countess' conversation with the Baroness.

_"__Mi scusa per una momenta._"

Rosamund snickered as she pulled Cora into the next room by the bustle of her dress.

"Just _what_ is so funny?"

"Your Italian is absolutely dreadful, dear," Rosamund replied with an affectionate smirk. She reached out to pull Cora's mask up onto her forehead, twirling a ratty curl around her finger and touching up her smeared face paint as best she could with her bare hands.

Cora stood there impatiently, staring up at the ceiling and wondering why she had even told Rosamund about him in the first place. This had all taken a ridiculous turn by now.

The redhead finally laid her hands on the countess' shoulders and sighed. "Perfect. You look the part now. You must find it just a _bit _exciting to be dressed as a kitchen wench tonight, do you not?"

"Actually, if you must know, I feel very silly."

"Good," her sister-in-law replied suddenly and sharply. "Because this is a silly situation, and every Don Quixote needs his Dulcinea. You'll see. He will find you to be absolutely irresistible."

"_Rosamund_…" Cora warned.

"_Cora_…" she shot back, leaning forward on her toes to grin at her sister-in-law accusingly. "I didn't _make_ you do this, did I?"

It was true. The American woman had chosen to go along with Rosamund's idea, and she couldn't deny that she felt a certain rush walking amongst fellow aristocratic guests in this attire. And yet, that was not the true reason why she had wanted to do it, and neither was the company of her chivalric admirer. It had all been for the look on her maid's face when she had requested her assistance in assembling _this _for her costume. They had giggled together as O'Brien attempted to make her hair as unruly as possible, and Cora had enjoyed the many times they'd had to start over with the heavy face paint because the younger woman was shaking with silent laughter and couldn't keep a steady hand. When O'Brien had finally spun her around to tie her corset from the front, Cora had felt an unexpected fluttering sensation in her stomach at being inches from her maid's face while the shorter woman's deft hands gingerly laced and tied their way upwards. She had never actually been able to watch O'Brien lace her corset like this. Once the last knot was tied, O'Brien had lifted her gaze to the countess with an adoring grin. Their eyes had locked for a moment, and it was clear that Cora was not the only one who had grown short of breath over the past few minutes.

Once they arrived at the gates to the house, Rosamund twirled her sister-in-law in a circle before handing her off to the knight waiting before them.

He looked much the same as he had the night before, but his colors were reversed – a red cape, blue velvet ties, a blue feather on his helmet. It was most subtle, but the simple beauty of the change still managed to send a chill through the countess at the sight of him.

"I present to you…your Lady Dulcinea."

Cora sighed impishly as he knelt to the ground before her and once again mimed a kiss to her hand.

"I'm Aldonza tonight…from Don Quixote of La Mancha? It was Rosamund's idea." The countess felt the need to explain, to highlight the reference so that he would not find her tasteless for looking so very whorish and exposing her chest so. The thought occurred to her that the stranger might not understand a word of English.

He did not seem to react at all to her changed appearance, simply holding out his arm to her as if she were still an elegant lady. She turned around to share a comical, knowing glance with Rosamund, but the redhead had vanished once again into the chaos of the dinner party.

The evening passed in the loveliest of ways, with dancing and a leisurely stroll around the surrounding piazza. The mysterious knight had been nothing but a gentleman, leading her across the ballroom with purpose and holding her tightly in his armor-covered arms. He had even planned a surprise nighttime outing across the Venetian waterways, led by none other than the guide whom Cora had met the day before. Quite differently from yesterday, however, it was a silent journey, and Cora reveled in the quiet lapping of the water beside the boat and the feeling of her knight's gloved hand entwined with hers. The city shone brightly with festive lights, and it inspired in the countess the courage to seek answers.

He held her hand and kept her steady as she disembarked. She gazed down at his masked visage, asking in wonder, "Who _are_ you?"

In that very moment, the moonlight hit his face with alarming swiftness, and the countess finally caught a glimpse of two blue eyes that gleamed like the Adriatic Sea.

* * *

This was a bad idea. This was going to be a disaster. This was already a disaster.

Sarah suppressed a deep sigh as Cora's soft, warm lips crushed against her own once more. She could hardly believe that the countess hadn't figured it out by now, having removed her helmet and her breastplate. All that truly separated them from reality was Sarah's white mask and meager chainmail. Allowing any womanly sounds to escape from her mouth would surely give her away by now.

Bloody Hell, she was practically attacking Sarah with kisses, pushing the disguised woman against the wall of her bedroom and pinning her there. If Sarah had thought Gianna to be aggressive and lustful, the Italian woman's advances surprisingly paled in comparison to those of the countess!

They had planned it so carefully. Sarah had been meant to disappear into the night after the gondola ride, once again following the scheme of Gianna and Giacomo's repertoire of parlor tricks. Before she could plan her next move, the countess had suddenly pulled her upstairs to her rooms, crying excitedly, "There is something that I _must _show you!" Sarah had been intrigued and ensnared by the countess' charms and was taken off guard by her shameless wantonness. If Cora hadn't been wearing that damn costume, Sarah might have been able to resist. She hadn't been able to resist, and this was surely going to end badly.

Sarah wrapped her arms around Cora's delicate waist, pulling her in closer despite the voice in her head that screamed at her to stop this at once. In the midst of their feverish kisses, the American woman had untied the velvet ribbon holding Sarah's hair in place, and the maid felt her hands combing their way through her locks admiringly. Sarah groaned when Cora's lips suddenly found her neck, and in her surrendered state, she nearly didn't notice that the countess was beginning to loosen the ties on her white mask. The lady's maid stopped her in a panic, grabbing her wrists and shaking her head in protest.

Her resistance was met with smug laughter. The countess whispered in her ear in a growling voice,

"Sarah O'Brien, did you really think that I would not recognize my own lady's maid?"

Sarah thought she might faint then and there. She stood completely still, petrified as Cora lifted the mask from her face. They watched one another in silence until the American woman kissed her softly and murmured, "I am not angry with you, Sarah. In fact, I am _very_ impressed, my dashing masked _man_." She giggled at her own words and Sarah felt her face unstiffen into a relieved grin. The countess implored shyly, "If you don't want me, I will understand. I just thought…"

Bursting with sudden confidence, Sarah stopped her from continuing with a kiss so powerful that it left the countess entirely breathless and assured of Sarah's returned affection.

They did not stop their frenzied grasping, and Sarah gasped when the countess boldly shoved her down onto her bed and began to pull off her boots. Cora chuckled when she saw the extra padding inside of them and muttered, "Well that answers _that _question…"

Sarah was defenseless against the countess' hungry movements as she removed her entire costume, from britches to gloves. Sarah finally found a small window to flip the other woman onto her back, straddling her with a playful snigger as she began to unlace her corset. Cora reached up in protest, swatting Sarah's hands away and unbuttoning her doublet. In their passionate tumble, Sarah had forgotten what lay beneath until reminded by her lover's incredulous, twinkling laugh.

"Goodness, Sarah! What is this binding?"

Sarah felt herself blush deep crimson at the countess' discovery. "It's a long story, m'Lady."

"Cora. I'm Cora," she replied insistently.

"Cora," Sarah corrected herself with a timid, yet warm look into Cora's eyes. She could not believe that any of this was happening, so very stunned by her lady's overwhelming radiance. The countess was dazzlingly beautiful, even with disheveled hair and tattered clothing. Sarah had spent over a decade of her life imagining this moment, and it had finally arrived. She could barely think.

The countess purred and reached up to brush the younger woman's hair out of her face. "Later. All I want to know right now is how to get it off of you. I want to see what's under your armor, _mon chevalier_!"


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

* * *

Once Gianna finally reached the top of the trellis, she pulled her mask down around her neck and peered in through the window to get a better look. She bit back a laugh when she saw them lying fast asleep in the countess' bed, so tangled in blankets and pillows and long hair that she could barely make them out at all. Were it not for the clothing and armor strewn over every surface in the room, Gianna would have been uncertain as to whom she was watching. It was the closeness that truly told the tale – their synced breathing, their entwined arms, they way she could barely tell where one woman ended and the other began.

She grinned to herself, filling with utter happiness at the sight. She had hoped that this is what she would find. Otherwise, Sarah's mysterious failure to follow the plan might have had far more sinister reasons behind it. In fact, she was relieved that they would be spared the mad rush of undressing and re-dressing the lady's maid after the end of her escapades. It had not been nearly as fun as getting her _into_ costume.

Satisfied, the Italian woman leaned back into the night air, holding onto the precariously creaky structure with nothing but two fingers and the tip of her toe. She whistled quietly and waved her free arm about as her younger brother looked up at her, running beneath the trellis and spreading his arms widely.

"_Pronto_!" he whispered loudly, making a silly face at his sister.

In an act that had been well rehearsed since both of their childhood days, Gianna leapt down from the window as gracefully as a falling star, laughing merrily as she descended to the ground. Giacomo caught her with swift precision. As he set her down on her feet again, he nodded his head in facetious deference and said with a flippantly cheerful grin,

"_Buona sera, Baronessa_!"

Gianna chuckled, and as she had anticipated, her brother wanted to know every detail of what she'd seen. He did love a good bit of gossip from time to time. She cleared her throat and stood a bit taller than usual, assuming the persona of Cora Crawley.

"_Oh_, Sarah! My _beautiful_ maid!" she cried dramatically in her best American accent. "_You _are my handsome _cavaliere_! What a surprise!" She laid the back of her hand on her forehead, leaning backwards and sighing until her brother burst into laughter at her impression. "We _must _be lovers, we _must_!"

Joining in on her game, he grew burlier in posture and mustered his best imitation of Sarah O'Brien. "But m'Lady, we _cannot_!"

Gianna rushed forward and grabbed his hands, exclaiming, "We _must_, we _must_!" and pretended to faint into Giacomo's arms as he made silly kissing noises. His sister jumped straight up again and the two of them smiled impishly at one another for a moment before cackling contentedly at the fruits of their mischief.

Once their hearty laughter had ceased, the Italian man pointed downward and twirled his finger, motioning for his sister to turn around. She hummed happily as he re-fastened her forest green cloak, re-assembled her glittering fairy wings, and twisted her long ebony hair back into place on top of her head. She stepped into her dainty jeweled shoes, pulled on her satin gloves, and stood patiently as Giacomo placed her flowery tiara on her head once more and swapped her red mask for her more stately golden one.

Finally satisfied with her appearance, he bid her farewell, making her laugh for the last time as he proclaimed in mockery of Rosamund's voice,

"I am afraid I must leave now, my dearest sister. The clock has struck midnight long ago, and the time has come for me to retire to your husband's chambers so that we can…eh, _fare l'amore_!"

He escaped into the darkness, clacking his heels and snickering like a jester as he skipped away.

Gianna closed her eyes and breathed deeply, centering herself. She wound her way skillfully through the gardens until she stood once again at the grand entrance to her home. Despite the late hour, a large group of masked guests stood on either side of the hallway to greet her upon her arrival. With their eyes cast downward in reverence, they bowed to her one at a time as she glided forward to join the dwindling festivities.

* * *

Rosamund reclined lazily in her seat, stretching her arms and threading her fingers through her freed mass of red curls.

"_Oh_!" she jumped in surprise as she felt Gianna's arms enclosing her from behind in a tight squeeze.

"_Buona mattina, mia bella_" she mumbled in her ear, kissing her cheek with a messy smacking sound.

Rosamund giggled in utmost glee, rolling her eyes and pulling the baroness down once more to kiss her lips more languidly. "Good morning to you too."

They sat on the balcony in front of Gianna's room for many minutes, chatting together, drinking tea, and basking in the glow of the warm sun.

"I wonder…" Rosamund asked, crossing her legs and bobbing her bare foot up and down, "Will Cora and her handsome knight decide to be 'sick' again today? Or will they perhaps decide to hop off of one another for at least a _few_ minutes?"

They both threw their heads back in laughter, practically tearing up at the hilarity of it all.

"I cannot blame them," Gianna added, stretching her arms high above her head. "I told you, if the countess didn't want her, I'd have kept her for myself…"

"Dear God," Rosamund groaned and pouted in pretend concern. "First she steals Cora's heart and now yours? What does _she _have that I don't?"

The baroness suddenly grabbed her hand and scattered kisses all down her arm, causing Rosamund to squirm happily in her chair.

"Nothing. _Niente_. Do not be jealous, _amore mio_. I did this for _you_, eh?" Gianna pointed at her lover and winked. "And you _know_ I do not belong to _anyone_. Not one person!"

Rosamund leaned in on her elbows and gazed into the Italian woman's dark eyes, saying with a sigh, "I know, I know. Free as a bird and whatnot…What I would have given to have a marriage like yours – a convenient, pleasant, civil agreement, and yet you don't have to love him!"

"But I do!" Gianna insisted with an earnest grin. "I adore him! I love him the way I love my brother, and the way you love your sister-in-law. Do you see, Rosamund?"

The redheaded woman smiled in spite of herself, smitten with the way the baroness fidgeted energetically like a child any time she had a point to get across.

"I suppose you're right. Good heavens, nothing would have _ever _happened without _me_!" She chuckled and crossed her arms, highly entertained at the thought of it all. "I have never been a particularly charitable person, but how absolutely inane of them both to have waited so long..."

"Shhh!"

Rosamund stopped herself mid-sentence, and the two of them stared in silence. As if by some divine happenstance, the countess and her maid had suddenly appeared in the gardens below them. Rosamund and Gianna hid beneath the short walls of the balcony, giggling together as they watched the two of them strolling arm-in-arm. They covered their mouths, shaking with laughter as Cora and Sarah stopped to admire the flowers, clasping their hands together and swinging them back and forth like two lovesick adolescents.

"How disgustingly adorable," Rosamund remarked sarcastically under her breath.

"Stay one more night, please?" the baroness pleaded in a whisper as they knelt side-by-side, her large eyes growing serious.

The English woman turned to her and nodded. "One more night."

"Good," Gianna kissed her once more and said softly. "We can invite Sarah tonight to celebrate _Carnevale_, but as a woman this time, eh? It is only fair."

Rosamund sniggered and muttered, "Of course. I think that tonight should be our dear _Cora's_ debut as a masked man! Perhaps something different…What say you to…Robin Hood?"

They shared a wickedly delightful grin, and Gianna threw her arm around Rosamund's neck, ruffling her hair and whispering excitedly,

"_Bravissima_!"

* * *

_And that's it! Hope you liked it! I took a bit of a weird, twisted route at the end, but hopefully it was fun and full of __mischief, just as I'd intended. :-) Many thanks to Cartouche (ernest-hyde-poem) for all of her help with the Carnival idea and some of the Italian phrases too. This is 100% officially the last Corah story I'll be posting on Fanfiction (I know I always say it and don't mean it, but it's true this time), so I hope it was worth it! Much love to you all. _

_xoxo,_

_Morgana_


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